


something like magic

by hananapeel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hananapeel/pseuds/hananapeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>take two pranksters and add stewed lacewing flies. stir thrice. wave a wand. make some idiots fall in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	something like magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awkwardedgeworth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/gifts).



> special thanks to my beta goddess! rated as teen but there is some swearing.
> 
> to my recipient: i hope you enjoyed this!!!!!

The thing with having a muggle-born best friend was that summers off school were never boring. They tossed a volleyball around in Matsukawa’s backyard, or drove his dad’s old truck on and off the turnpike just for fun, or, on days on which they felt particularly slow, watched action movies pirated onto Matsukawa’s laptop. Today was one of those lazy days, when the air felt thick and stagnant and hours dripped by like molasses. Hanamaki yawned as Jackie Chan kicked his way to victory and Rush Hour 2 faded into credits.

“Hey,” he said, turning over to flop onto his back, “summer’s almost over.”

The bed shifted as Matsukawa closed his laptop and turned onto his back too, folding his hands behind his head and making a vague hum of agreement. “Pretty weird to think that it’s our last summer before graduation.”

The ceiling fan spun slowly, around and around in listless circles.

“Feels like just yesterday that we were first years,” Hanamaki finally said, and something weighed on his chest like sadness but not quite, perhaps fear but not exactly that either.

He felt Matsukawa’s soft laugh. “Remember when we put Oikawa’s pet frog in his robe during our first Start-of-Term Feast and he screamed like a baby Mandrake in the middle of old Ukai’s speech?”

“My favorite is still when in fourth year we charmed his quill to draw dicks on his potions assignments while he was sleeping.”

“Hey, that was my idea,” Matsukawa said, and Hanamaki rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, we all know your obsession with phallic objects,” he said, and they grinned at each other. “What do you think we should do this year?”

“What, like prank-wise?”

“Yeah,” Hanamaki said, sitting up in excitement, “this is our last year. We have to do something big.”

“I have something big right here,” Matsukawa deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at his crotch as he sat up, too, and Hanamaki snorted before waving the offending hand away.

“I have an idea,” he said. “What if we switch appearances for a week using Polyjuice potion?”

Matsukawa turned to face him. “Perfect,” he breathed, and Hanamaki felt a slow grin spreading across his face in time with Matsukawa’s.

“Imagine Oikawa’s face when he finds out,” Matsukawa laughed giddily. “He’s always going on about how he knows us better than we know ourselves.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hanamaki said, and they were snickering together when Matsukawa hit him in the side with a surprise jab. Hanamaki, with quick reflexes honed from years of experience with Matsukawa-wrangling, grabbed Matsukawa’s hand before it could escape. A flash of a grin, a gleam of challenge, and they ended up half-wrestling, half-laughing, until they ended up on the wooden floor in a sweaty heap of limbs and messy black hair and muggle Reebok sneakers.

They lay face-up, panting with limbs sprawled across the bedroom floor, stillness replacing the flurried motion of moments before. Despite their best efforts, silence settled again like heavy fog, persistent no matter how many times they tried to roll it off their backs.

It was just one of those sorts of days.

Hanamaki found himself watching the ceiling fan again, around and around as slow as the seconds passing by. “Hey, Matsukawa,” he said finally, “what are you going to do after graduation?”

“Mm,” Matsukawa hummed noncommittally, and they lay there in silence for so long that Hanamaki turned his head to see if Matsukawa had fallen asleep in the sweltering heat. Suddenly, Matsukawa turned and grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling carelessly, as carelessly and freely as he seemed to live his entire life. “Dunno, maybe I’ll just stick with you to make sure you don’t die.”

“Hah, more like you need me to cook cheeseburgers for you,” Hanamaki said, but as Matsukawa snorted and the fan pushed room-temperature air onto their faces, he turned his face to the side and smiled.

 

* * *

 

“Remind me why we’re doing this in the first-floor girls’ lavatory, again?”

Matsukawa looked up from the old potions book he smuggled out of Professor Nekomata’s office. “No one comes in here since the toilets always get clogged, no matter how many times they charm them.”

“Exactly,” Hanamaki sighed, breathing through his robe to mitigate the infamous stench of this particular lavatory. “Exactly.”

“Necessary sacrifice, Hanamaki,” Matsukawa said, and gestured vaguely at the floor space next to him for Hanamaki to sit down.

Hanamaki sat and peered into the cauldron of stewing lacewing flies. “Knowing how you smell,” he said, voice muffled by his robe, “no wonder it doesn’t bother you.”

“I’ll push your head into the cauldron,” Matsukawa said, not looking up from his book, and Hanamaki laughed.

“Stewed flies still smell better than your room,” he said, and Matsukawa suddenly dropped his book and grabbed Hanamaki’s head, rubbing his knuckles harshly into his skull. “Say that again!” he said with teasing anger.

“I give, I give,” Hanamaki laughed, and Matsukawa released him as Hanamaki gingerly touched his stinging head. “Thought so,” Matsukawa huffed with pretend arrogance. “No one can withstand the power of Matsukawa’s fist.”

“Actually, you smelled so bad that I couldn’t breathe,” Hanamaki grinned.

Matsukawa rolled his eyes and picked his book up again. “Do you have the supplies?” he asked.

Hanamaki pulled out the fluxweed and knotgrass he got from the Apothecary when school supply shopping over the summer. With silent agreement they fell into a pattern, with Matsukawa reading out the measurement and Hanamaki adding it to the cauldron. Once they were added, Hanamaki stirred the potion and waved his wand.

“Okay,” he said, leaning towards Matsukawa to read the textbook, “now we let it simmer for 80 more minutes. Have you an hourglass?”

When Matsukawa didn’t respond Hanamaki looked up and froze. Matsukawa was looking at him with... some sort of meaning that Hanamaki didn’t recognize. They were sitting so close, and Hanamaki was leaned even closer, pressed against Matsukawa’s side. They stared at each other, Matsukawa seemingly trying to sending some silent message, and Hanamaki trying to interpret it. Matsukawa leaned closer and a frantic thought flashed across Hanamaki’s mind, too brief to even fully understand, and suddenly, Matsukawa moved away as quickly as he had leaned in. “I’ll get one from my room,” he said, standing up abruptly. “You stay here and watch the potion.”

“Okay,” Hanamaki said, and as Matsukawa pushed out of the bathroom, he felt like he had missed something important, thoughts and suspicions slipping quickly like silk through his grasp until he was left feeling confused and strangely empty.

 

* * *

 

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” Matsukawa laughed, as Oikawa stuck his tongue out at them from across the table.

“Iwa-chan, make them tell me!”

“No.”

“Mean! I know they’re planning something... Every year around this time... I can tell just by your faces, you assholes...”

Matsukawa snickered, quickly conjuring a magnifying glass and holding it up to Hanamaki’s face.

“Hmm.. I don’t see anything,” he said, and Hanamaki faked a grin.

“Me neither,” Hanamaki said, using the magnifying glass to study Matsukawa’s face as if it meant nothing to examine his strong, sturdy jaw and the bump on the top of his nose. Ever since the strange, confusing moment in the putrid stench of stewed lacewing flies, Hanamaki has felt a rush of awareness when with Matsukawa, a strange tension in his chest that wasn’t there before. When Matsukawa had returned to the bathroom with the hourglass he had pretended nothing was different, but everything was different. Everything was more complicated, more confusing, and Hanamaki had never been more disoriented. Suddenly, the most innocent brushes felt like gentle caresses. Matsukawa’s snarky little jokes– were they in fact flirtation? Hanamaki’s stomach constantly knotted up at even casual glances; Matsukawa’s heavy-lidded eyes seemed sultry, imbued with meaning that Hanamaki knew he was imagining but hoped for all the same.

He was so fucked.

“Guess you’re imagining it, Oikawa,” Matsukawa smiled wickedly, and laughed as Oikawa sputtered, “Iwa-chan, they’re planning something! They’re definitely planning something!”

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting crosslegged around the bubbling cauldron, they looked at each other and both took a deep breath. For two seventh years sitting on the tiled floor of the first-floor girl’s lavatory, they were strangely serious, and the tense air hung around them, as thick as the potion they just finished brewing.

Against his better judgement, Hanamaki thought about looking like Matsukawa, imagined having lowered lids and tangled black hair that looked like he had just been kissed. Wondered how he would look when he smiled. If he had Matsukawa’s lips, would they stretch as widely, curl upwards in the same lazy way? Would he also have the same shallow dimple on the right side, and would his eyes crinkle downwards in the corners?

He wondered what Matsukawa was thinking. Even though it was probably something typical, like, _I can’t wait to fuck with Oikawa_ , the thought Hanamaki himself should have, he imagined Matsukawa thinking about him, instead. Maybe Matsukawa was wondering what it would be like to have pink hair. Maybe, just maybe, Matsukawa wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through it, to take hold of it.

Hanamaki was so fucked, and fuck it, he just didn’t give a fuck anymore.

“So,” Hanamaki finally said, “this is it.”

Matsukawa held up two goblets with hands that Hanamaki briefly imagined holding. “Yep.”

“You do the honors.”

Matsukawa nodded gravely and added the final scoop of lacewing flies, carefully stirring three times anti-clockwise. Ladling a heavy, thick scoop into each goblet, he handed one to Hanamaki and placed his own on the floor next to him.

Hanamaki swallowed slowly, his mouth dry in anticipation.

“Now for the hair,” Matsukawa said, and Hanamaki grinned widely, too widely for the serious atmosphere. “I’ll go first.”

Pretend nothing is wrong. Pretend nothing is wrong.

He grabbed Matsukawa’s head and, ignoring the heat spreading across his hand, wrapped a curly strand around his finger and yanked viciously. As he would have done if things were normal, if Hanamaki was blissfully oblivious. If awareness didn’t flare across his pores at the sight of Matsukawa. If things were normal. If they could wrestle without Hanamaki thinking about the rough press of skin, the searing contact. If they teased without flirtatious intent. The old Hanamaki would have pulled Matsukawa’s hair out as hard as he could, instead of enjoying the softness of his hair and fantasizing brushing through curls with his fingers.

“Ow!” Matsukawa yelped, and Hanamaki took his small victories of pretend.

“You’re just going to do the same to me,” Hanamaki laughed. It’s what they do to each other, after all; thoughtless scuffles and meaningless touches.

He froze at Matsukawa frowning. “Actually,” he said gravely, pulling a pair of tiny scissors out of his robe, “I would never do such a cruel thing to your delicate head.”

What the fuck. What the fuck _what the fuck_ –

Matsukawa was looking at him expectantly and god, this is what Hanamaki loved and hated about Matsukawa– he could never tell when he was joking or serious. It made jokes and pranks hilarious and Hanamaki could usually hold his own poker face too, but he could definitely feel a red flush traveling up his neck as Matsukawa held up the scissors gravely.

“Ha ha,” Hanamaki laughed weakly, and rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance while his heart thumped loudly and erratically. Gulping, he slowly lowered his head towards Matsukawa, feeling like an offering to some capricious god.

Warm, gentle fingers suddenly cradled his head, and Hanamaki closed his eyes, trying not to tremble. This was not the same hand that he frequently grappled with in weekly arm wrestling tournaments. It was soft, and felt infinitely intimate. It was a caress, imbued with a meaning that Hanamaki was afraid to hope to be true.

A quiet snip, and Matsukawa broke the silence. “Done,” he said, and Hanamaki straightened, too scared to lift his head and look at him.

“Okay, let’s do this!” he said with false excitement, still studying the white bathroom tiles, arranged in neat little squares. How lucky for them to know their place.

“Wait, Hanamaki,” and Hanamaki closed his eyes at the serious tone. A joking serious, he told himself, forcing back down the hope that had swelled up inside him. Matsukawa joked all the time.

He raised his head slowly and took a shuddering breath at the honest look on Matsukawa’s face– a mixture of anguish and hope that matched the feeling fluttering in Hanamaki’s own stomach. “Listen, Hanamaki,” Matsukawa started, and Hanamaki ignored all insecurities and kissed him.

Matsukawa’s lips were chapped and eager, moving against Hanamaki’s own with immediate enthusiasm that contrasted against the slow, lazy way he usually approached everything else he did. Large, calloused hands moved restlessly on Hanamaki’s back, and hungry lips pressed clumsily on the corners of Hanamaki’s lips, his flushed cheeks, his earlobes. In the onslaught of affection Hanamaki could only sit still and breathe heavily; for a kiss he started he has definitely lost control of it all together. As Matsukawa’s roving mouth finally moved back to his own, Hanamaki closed his eyes and leaned further in, only one, gleeful thought on his mind: he likes me, too. Matsukawa sucked on his lower lip. _He likes me, too._ Matsukawa licked his way into his mouth in an intimate touch. _He likes me, too._ Hanamaki finally moved, too, running his hands through soft black hair and returning the kiss. _He likes me, too._ He might have done, all along.

They pulled apart in the natural way that kisses seemed to mutually end, and their breaths mingled between them. “So,” Matsukawa said, lips so close that Hanamaki could feel the rush of hot air on his own, “um... you can probably tell but... I can’t wait to look like you.”

They laughed together in shared breaths, giddy.

A few stolen kisses later and they clinked their goblets together. “Wonder what you taste like,” Matsukawa said, wiggling his eyebrows, and Hanamaki’s stomach flipped with excitement.

“Bottoms up,” they said together, and gulped the potion down.

As he felt his face bubble and shift, his legs stretching longer and his hands growing larger and more knobbly, Hanamaki smiled at Matsukawa. “You tasted like coffee.”

Matsukawa’s hair was shrinking and fading into pink. “You were a strawberry milkshake, actually.”

When their transformations were complete, they looked at each other. “You look pretty hot,” Hanamaki said.

“I want to kiss you again,” Matsukawa said seriously, with a heavy lidded look that Hanamaki hadn’t realize his face could have.

In between kisses, Hanamaki leaned close to his ear. “You must be pretty into yourself, huh,” he whispered, grinning.

“No, I’m really into _you_ ,” was his reply, and as Matsukawa worked his clever mouth down his neck, Hanamaki wondered if he would ever stop blushing.

When they finally made their way back to dinner, Oikawa gasped audibly the moment they sat down. Hanamaki and Matsukawa shared wary looks. They had tried their best to straighten his unruly hair, but Matsukawa’s– or rather, Hanamaki’s– hair was stubbornly mussed. Hanamaki patted his hair down self-consciously.

“What happened,” Iwaizumi grunted, as Oikawa looked between them with wide eyes and aborted squeals emerged from his mouth.

“You guys got together, didn’t you?” he finally asked excitedly. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Hanamaki jumped me in the bathroom,” Hanamaki said, imitating Matsukawa’s heavy lids and lazy speech.

Matsukawa managed a convincing smirk. “Matsukawa is just so sexy, I couldn’t control myself.”

They high-fived under the table as Oikawa fainted with glee and Iwaizumi nearly choked himself to death on a bite of roast. Who knew that getting together would result in their best prank ever?

 

* * *

 

 

The thing with having a muggle-born boyfriend was that holiday breaks at home were never boring. They had long snowball wars of attrition, made icy treks to Iwaizumi’s house just to start said battles, and, when finally inside, bundled together in sweatered warmth and socked comfort, shared slow kisses with icy noses and peppermint lips. Today was one of those days, when the fireplace crackled like gingersnaps and joyful seconds wove by like colorful yarn, and soft touches were sparked with something like magic.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! if you enjoyed PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT HANAMATSU


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